Poem of the Month

Saint Teresa

Saint Teresa is the last to show up at the orlop deck
Half bald, with spiky hair and torn denims
She leans towards the bar, knocks the glass in the desk,
shaking up the hull: On the rocks!
She pours golden drops down her throat.
Amazing Grace says her T-shirt in white against black
The lighter in her back pocket can be of use
When she says a prayer or lights a fuse.
Saint Teresa prays quite often.
Asking God for a Mercedes Benz,
A night on the town, a color tv.
Her wrinkles have grown into a tight web,
Wrapped around her body, wrapping her up and hiding
The twenty year old angel, who died in a hotel room from
Chemicals and night mares
With no candle in her back pocket, no mercy of God.
Singing and sinking she swims through storms of days,
Waves of years. She holds a faith in her little palm
Strong enough to move rocks.
She gets her head above water:
There goes her child, her mother, her self.
Drifting towards the country with the many bonfires.
The country which is not
Because they’ve burned it down with all their prayers and CO2.
Yet becomes Saint Teresa an amazing grace
That makes grass grow on the rocks of the coast,
Shattering the orlop deck, the bar and the Mercedes Benz.
Her song is a cry, a prayer to be the last one,
The last one tearing the waves to bits and pieces, the last
To have a fire in her pocket,
Light and strong as faith
Light as golden drops,
Light as foaming drizzle on the rocks.
© 2016